Portrait: Volney Rain
by lyredenfers
Summary: [One-shot] Volney Rain, court artist, was good at being what people wanted him to be.


Volney Rain was a young man of many talents, or so the nobility at court were fond of saying.

The story went that a certain Lady of Nond had come across a nameless artist in Corus one day, and taken a fancy to his portraits. Word had traveled - as it does in a contained network of gossip - and as coincidence would have it, His Majesty was looking for someone to do a portrait of his new bride. The royal couple was delighted with the finished painting and by the time that Volney had been given residence in the palace, everyone who was anyone was arranging sittings with the artist.

Volney had played his part, the humble street artist. _Their Majesties were too kind; His Lordship was too grand for the company of a lowly commoner like himself_. Surprisingly refined, he knew his place yet proved to be an adept master of social situations and a welcome addition to any dinner party. Volney charmed the young ladies effortlessly, and flattered their mothers in the same breath. Lords were pleased with his ability for well informed conversation.

Still, he puzzled them.

Beyond Lady Nond's account, no one knew who he was. Where he had come from _before_ the market. And what's more, where he disappeared to when he slipped past the palace gates - as he was often observed to be doing – remained a mystery.

To be sure, the palace guard had sent men to follow the court artist on several occasions. But with the friendly evasiveness that seemed to follow Volney wherever he went, the guards would always lose their quarry long before reaching the market.

Speculation and rumours surrounded the court artist, and inventing Volney's life proved to be a pastime worthy of everyone from children to bedridden gossips. Soon it was widely spread knowledge that the painter had traded his soul for his talents, had a double identity as a street assassin, and spoke fluently a bare minimum of eight languages.

When Volney happened to over-hear the last rumour, it amused him in the vague way that things tended to do; he spoke nine, actually.

* * *

Volney Rain was a great pet of Tortallan nobility and this included Their Majesties. King Jonathan and Queen Thayet could often be seen in, and around the artist's apartments. No one questioned it. At least not within the hearing of anyone who might take offence.

"Hello, Jonathan."

The King started, and frowned at Volney's back. Jonathan thought he'd been quiet. Apparently not quiet enough. "How did you know it was me?"

The younger man sighed, irritated at having his work interrupted. How did they ever expect him to get work done, if they never left him _alone_? Putting down his paintbrush, he turned to face Jonathan, who was standing in the doorframe.

Somewhere in his convoluted past, the young man that called himself Volney Rain had been schooled in social situations. This much was evident. Volney knew the position of an artist, and the worth of a King. He knew when respect was due, so he tried to mask his annoyance with flippancy. "It was your aura. You simply filled the room with such unmistakable, majestic—"

Jonathan's mouth twitched at the corners, and he raised an eyebrow. "I have an aura, do I?"

"Most assuredly. A kingly, unmistakable—" he broke off and scowled. Volney liked costumes, and assumed identities; certainly, he and Arram Draper both. But the young artist didn't like masks. However much a mask could hide his face from others, it went the other way as well. Let others see his face, and much good may it do them – Volney loathed having his vision obstructed.

"You know I hate it when people watch me work."

"If you recall, you were given residence here so that - amongst other things admittedly - I could watch you work." Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest, in warning.

"Is that so, _Majesty?_"

"You know, Volney, I could have you hung for the lack of respect that you show for your king."

Volney smiled vaguely. "You could – but you wouldn't."

"No," agreed Jonathan. "I wouldn't. But you _will_ learn respect."

The artist's eyes slanted, considering. Etiquette, he knew well, was good for masking the truth. Volney was good at being what people wanted him to be, and so he nodded. "Yes, I believe I will."

* * *

"Hello."

"Jon. Aren't you down here a little too often? Don't those gossiping courtiers of yours notice?"

Jonathan shrugged expansively. The gesture, foreign to his body language, looked stiff and unnatural. "I'm a vain man, Volney, my subjects know this. Why can't a King be painted in peace?"

Volney gave the older man a shrewd look. "You know, considering the amount of time I spend painting you, I have very little to show for it all. It's bad for business."

"I _am_ the business."

"You weren't always."

* * *

"Good afternoon, your Majesty." Volney sighed inwardly; didn't they have anything better to do then interrupt his work? Say, run a kingdom?

"Good afternoon. A word?"

"Certainly."

Queen Thayet swept into his workroom, her presence filling every inch of his studio. It was smothering, really. She took a seat, settled her skirts in a stately motion, and gestured for him to sit as well.

"Pleasure today, or business?" asked Volney, obligingly.

"Neither, I'm afraid." Thayet took his large, rough hands in her own, slender, calloused, ones. "You have to understand Volney, being raised as I was, I'm not accustomed to sharing."

"Oh is that's what this is about?" he asked, all innocence. She wasn't one to waste time in getting to the point, as he knew well. "I'd heard that Lady Cythera was quite taken with that painting - I can paint another. It won't be the same mind you, but if prevents a falling out of sorts between the ladies, then I can do nothing less."

Thayet smiled, although her eyes hardened. "That's not what this is about, although I believe it was your finest to date." She cleared her throat. "I'm talking about Jonathan, Volney. I'm not willing to share. Do you understand?"

Volney nodded. He understood.

Thayet untangled her hands and moved one briefly to his cheek. When she moved it, there was a line of wet paint, initially from his own hands. Rubbing at the green paint with her thumb would only make it worse, Thayet knew from past experience. She gave him a final, searching look before turning and leaving.

And that was that.

Although it wasn't, not quite. Volney was good at being what people wanted him to be, but he didn't quite think he could manage two contradictory people at once. It was something to consider, in any case. Who was more deserving of his obedience? Both. Or neither. Not one or the other, to be sure.

Perhaps he'd find someone else to please. Someone higher up, more powerful. Then again, maybe it was time to consider what he, himself wanted Volney to be. The very idea amused him tremendously.

With a vague smile, Volney fetched a blank canvas. He'd decided to paint a self-portrait.

* * *

Rumours built him up, and then they tore him down.

Volney Rain retreated to the company of servants, and the entertainers. For a few months he was scorned; they knew he had been given the company, the honour that they had wanted for themselves. Then, they scorned him even further for losing what he had.

But the hired help all had their own hidden pasts. Where the nobles wanted details, the servants wanted steady work, so as to stay off the strets. A servant was to keep their mouth closed, and their hands moving. Of course, even the lowliest of sevants would know the latest gossip, but that was different; that was about the _nobles. _Employers were fair game. Personal pasts were, by silent agreement, not to be brought up. If you asked questions, people could ask them in return.

All in all, Volney Rain was royal property and he would reflect as much, when such a mood suited him. He was miserable, and wanted neither to stay nor leave, paint nor love.

But he did paint.

He was, after all, Volney Rain; court portrait artist and hired help.

* * *

A/N: Here it is, at last. Volney in the flesh. Well not really, but I assume you get the point.

Llama sized thank you to Sally, aka Gavin Gunhold, any large semblence of coherency is thanks to her. Go check out her Delia fics, "venom" and "thirteen". They rock my socks.

Also, huge thanks to Rosie and The Queen of Silver Ashes for additional beta-ing. I very much appreciate the help. Sorry about the comma issues (cringe) you should talk with Sally. She shares your pain.

Last of all, thanks to you, my dear readers :) Comments? Questions? Review!

Fen


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